


jealousy and fear (are two sides of the same coin)

by icygrace



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is muddled and confused when Bash comes upon her, clutching her letter to Jeanne of Navarre – angry that she’s been taken in and angry at herself for seriously considering a life with another man, reeling with the suspicion slowly taking root in the back of her mind, afraid that she might be right and afraid that she might be wrong, realizing that seeing Queen Jeanne shook her not so much because of anger, but because of jealousy –</p><p>Her jealousy is of Queen Jeanne herself and the sharpness and swiftness of it stuns her. Philandering husband or no, the woman is both a queen in her own right and a mother several times over, pregnant once again. Antoine can gallivant off wherever he wants and his wife still has plenty to occupy her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jealousy and fear (are two sides of the same coin)

**Author's Note:**

> Reign does not belong to me. Most of the passages in quotation marks are quotes from past episodes.
> 
> This was written pre-2x21 – while it includes some 2x21 elements, it changes most things.

Not once when she says _I love my husband_ is she lying.

 

She is muddled and confused when Bash comes upon her, clutching her letter to Jeanne of Navarre – angry that she’s been taken in and angry at herself for seriously considering a life with another man, reeling with the suspicion slowly taking root in the back of her mind, afraid that she might be right and afraid that she might be wrong, realizing that seeing Queen Jeanne shook her not so much because of anger, but because of jealousy –

Antoine pays attention to her and he is handsome and charming and powerful, but he is hardly the only man like that at court. Admittedly, he is the only one besides Francis with a _crown_. But the chance to be a queen is not the only thing he offers. 

 

_I have a dying wife who wants me to find a mother for our children._

_Are you sure you want a mother for your children who has no shame?_

_Well, I believe shame is the worst thing a parent can teach their children. I want my children to be joyful and frank and adventurous. Like you. But if parenthood is something that doesn't interest you . . ._

_No. It does, actually. More so than it does my husband._  

 

She knew well that even if his absurd story about his dying wife wanting a mother for their children had been true, he would have grown bored with her as soon as he won her. That is the sort of man Antoine is.

 

Her jealousy is of Queen Jeanne herself and the sharpness and swiftness of it stuns her. Philandering husband or no, the woman is both a queen in her own right and a mother several times over, pregnant once again. Antoine can gallivant off wherever he wants and his wife still has plenty to occupy her. 

\---

She wonders if she knew, even then. As though watching through the eyes of another, she can picture the way her last two conversations with her husband before their separation ended – like so many of their conversations, it was him walking away and her watching him leave. But this time he left disappointed, leaving her just as heartsick, her hand pressed to her belly.

 

But it’s not until much later that her body truly betrays her – after she meets Bash’s odd lady friend and feels some twinges in her heart she refuses to think too much on, after she impulsively tells him she’s as sure of Renaude as she can be, after Renaude betrays Francis, after Bash and Francis miraculously manage to see the castle through Condé’s siege, after they’ve taken the fight to Condé and his now-fleeing forces.

 

The morning after the king’s forces depart with the brothers at the head of the army and every day after that, she can barely eat from the nausea that engulfs her whenever she comes within ten feet of food. Combined with ever-present fatigue, it forces her to her bed more often than not.

 

Lola looks at her suspiciously when she comes to visit with her, as though ready to pounce upon any opportunity to share her suspicions, but she never allows her the opportunity. It’s not real if she doesn’t and even though she’s wanted this in her heart of hearts, she’s not sure she’s ready to have it, not like this – when she’s married in name only and her life is in tatters. And after Mary’s loss, Lola won’t force the matter.

 

Bizarrely, her other principal visitors are Claude and Leith, bearing broths and bread still warm from the oven with fresh-churned butter to slather it in if her stomach can tolerate it.

 

Leith, it’s revealed, has been assigned to guard Claude so she doesn’t make more trouble. He is _not_ pleased to have been left behind, particularly after having saved Francis’s life the last time Francis led troops into battle himself.

 

The first day, Claude tartly explains her uncharacteristically thoughtful actions. “I don’t want to owe you anything.” She pauses. “And I’m bored. He won’t let me do anything fun.” She glares at Leith.

 

“I can’t do anything fun right now,” Kenna points out.

 

“I can torture you. So at least one of us will enjoy herself.”

\---

 

Surprisingly, Claude doesn’t torture her and her company actually _is_ “fun.”

 

Leith, however, doesn’t share in their unexpected enjoyment of each other’s company. Sometimes, she forgets he is there unless Claude makes a point to needle him and draw him into the conversation because mostly he just sits and . . . sulks, honestly.

 

One day, Kenna hints that she would appreciate his passing along a letter to Greer when next he visits her. Greer of course cannot return to the castle and Kenna cannot be seen to be corresponding with her.

 

His lips thin. “I apologize, Lady Kenna, but there won’t be a next time.”

 

“Leith, fetch me some wine. I’m parched.”

 

“Claude, a servant could –”

 

“But Leith is right here.”

 

Leith glowers at Claude, but rises to do her bidding.

 

Their relationship seems familiar enough that Kenna feels her brows rising in surprising.

 

“He knows that I’m going to tell you what happened with his madam as soon as he leaves,” Claude says dismissively once the door’s shut behind him.

 

Poor Greer, the one who’d behaved best of them all – save for falling for a kitchen boy – falling so low despite not following her heart at the start. She’d come to love Lord Castleroy and his children and to be happy to marry him, but she’d had that happiness quickly and cruelly snatched from her.

 

Claude, of course, thinks Greer’s new life “delightfully naughty. I’m impressed; she seemed so insipid,” she’d once said.

 

Given Claude’s fascination with Greer’s new trade, Leith’s relationship with Greer, and Kenna’s own friendship with her, Kenna had been surprised that neither of them ever brought her up during their visits. “Well, what happened, then?”

 

“I gave him my diamond earrings to sell for money for her annulment, but she refused his proposal.”

 

Kenna feels her heart sink. She’d thought Leith Greer’s only remaining chance at happiness with Lord Castleroy imprisoned for life.

 

“Because she likes being an independent proprietor of female flesh.”

 

“Claude!”

 

Claude huffs at her.

 

“Behave.”

 

“And he doesn’t want his wife to be a brothel keeper.”

 

“I wouldn’t want my wife to be a brothel keeper either,” Kenna admits.

 

“He’s not a bad fellow – a good one, really – and rather attractive. Even though he’s not got much, I think it was foolish of her.”

 

“And if _you_ think it’s foolish –”

 

Claude narrows her eyes.

 

Kenna shrugs innocently.

 

“But I suppose it’d be a lark to live a scandalous life like that and just do what you wanted rather than being ordered about by parents or husbands or brothers.”

 

Kenna sighs. “Perhaps, but larks don’t last forever.”

 

Claude tears a piece off the loaf of bread that sits untouched on her plate – she can’t stomach it today – and flicks it at her.

 

Kenna rolls her eyes to hide her smile at the ridiculousness of the act.

 

\---

 

_You are kind. And strong. And the only man who's ever put my needs above his own._

 

_And yet we both know I’m not the man for you._

 

Except that he is, and he’s _dying_.

 

\---

“You insensitive ass!” Claude screams. “You don’t just say something like that to someone like it’s nothing! What’s the matter with you? You incompetent, idiotic –”

 

Kenna groans at the din.

“How do you feel, my lady?” an unfamiliar woman asks. “Do you feel any pain?”

 

“No –” _Pain._ The word jogs her memory. She sits up straight. “My husband – where is he? I have to go to him! That messenger –”

 

“He gave you quite a shock,” the woman interrupts firmly. “You fainted. Princess Claude was incensed. Truth of it is your husband _was_ thought to be quite beyond help when the healer began her work, but she managed to save him from death’s door.” The woman wordlessly urges her to lie back down. “He’ll recover. He’s been recovering, slowly, but recovering nevertheless.”

 

“Where is he?” Kenna asks again.

 

“At the healer’s. He isn’t fit for travel.”

 

Tears fill her eyes. “I have to –”

 

“You have to _rest_ , my lady,” the woman says more firmly than before. “That fool messenger gave you a fright. I know you are worried about your husband, but you must be careful, for your child’s sake.”

 

She touches her belly. _Oh._ “Are you sure? That – I mean –”

 

“Yes.” The nurse looks at her as though she’s simple. “That’s why I was sent for.”

 

“And you checked?”

 

“Whether it was harmed just now? There is no absolute certainty, but all seems well, my lady.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

“So please do take care. Your husband will be pleased when he is able to return, on the mend and with a child on the way.”

 

 _Will he?_ He’s never expressed a particular interest in children, not even his nephew or little brothers beyond being concerned for their general safety and wellbeing – no interest in spending time with them or playing games or anything like that. He was uncomfortable with Pascal, although he certainly did comfort her while she mourned him. And he never said anything that suggested he would have liked them to have children of their own. 

 

And even if he had, would he want a child with her _now_? When he has that strange woman of his?

 

_Of course not._

 

\---

 

“Hello.” Bash looks remarkably well when he returns to court and calls upon her in the chambers they once shared.

 

“You look well.”

 

“I’m nearly recovered.”

 

“I’m glad to see it.”

 

They stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable while until he breaks the silence with a non-sequitur. “Did you know Claude sent me a letter while I convalesced? She wrote: _If you die, I shall drag you back from hell myself and kill you again._ Charming that she assumes I will end up in hell, isn’t it?”

 

“She doesn’t know any other way.”

 

He snickers before wincing slightly and touching his side.

 

“Oh, Bash.”

 

“I’ll be good as new soon. But you – how are you?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“How do you feel?”

 

“Well enough,” she says suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

 

He clearly understands the unspoken question. “Claude assumed that I knew.”

 

“You won’t ask me if it’s yours?” she snaps acidly. She wants to avoid his eyes, but she won’t allow herself to.

 

His reply is mild. “Claude was quite detailed. And I can count. I take you at your word that you were never unfaithful to me before we separated. And even if you ran out and took advantage of your freedom from the moment we did –”

 

“Like you did,” she interrupts.

 

“Did what?”

 

“Took advantage of your freedom.”

 

“Who says I have?”

 

“Your friend with the name and the breasts and the vagina who lives in the forest.”

 

“Kenna, truly –”

 

She doesn’t want to be lied to, so she interrupts him again. “As I said, I’m well enough. At least my stomach is mostly settled now.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” With an awkward nod, he departs.

 

\---

 

She doesn’t see Bash again for two weeks.

 

When he does visit, he asks after her health again.

 

“I’m fine,” she responds stiffly.

 

“Good.” And then he makes a characteristically blunt statement. “We can’t annul our marriage.”

 

“Of course.” She’d known he’d come to this conclusion from the first time he came to her and in fact is surprised that it’s taken him this long to say it.

 

“Of course what?”

 

“Of course now. Of course I alone wasn’t enough for you to want to stay.” It’s an overly honest statement, one that makes her feel as though she’s laid herself bare and handed him a knife to carve out her heart, and she regrets it immediately.

 

“That’s not it. That’s not it at all. It has nothing to do with you not being enough.”

 

Words, words, words. _Words are wind._

 

“I acted as I did because I thought it was best, because I could not see how we could save ourselves. You didn’t want me –”

 

“I did. I always did.”

 

“Except when you wanted Antoine.”

 

“I didn’t want a king; I wanted a husband who didn’t always leave me alone.”

 

“You said you wanted a _good life_ and a husband to share it with.”

 

“You! I wanted a good life and I wanted _you_ to share it with. But you were never here and when you were, you lied to me and kept secrets from me. Antoine flattered me, yes, but he would never have turned my head if you’d been here half the time. He merely distracted me from my loneliness, from the fact that I felt abandoned and how that _broke my heart_.” She hates that she can hear tears in her voice. That means Bash can hear them, too. “So yes, I entertained his offer, but I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t have even entertained it at all if I felt that you were with me fully.”

 

She’s disappointed when he speaks again, because it’s as if he hadn’t heard her. “And what of Renaude?”

 

Renaude, who had his head cut off as a traitor to king and country.

 

“You were so sure of him.”

 

“Only after you told me our marriage was over and my only option was to find another husband! I knew you were moving on; what if you changed your mind about waiting until I found your replacement because it took too long and you became impatient to marry your new love? What else was I meant to do?” He looks as if he’s about to speak, but she has another question. “What of her?”

 

“What of –”

 

“Your _friend_. What of her? What will you say to her? Will you continue to go to her when I displease you?”

 

“I know I’ve disappointed you, Kenna. But I know what it is to be a bastard and I could never allow my own child to feel the same.”

 

It’s like they’re not even having the same conversation and she’s not sure if she wants to weep or scream with frustration.

 

\---

 

Another two weeks and another unannounced visit, but this time Bash doesn’t immediately ask after her health. He seems stunned into silence, eyes lingering over her belly, which is now visibly rounded beneath her gown.

 

It’s _real_ now.

 

She finds herself wanting to blink back tears at how much her pregnancy differs from what she imagined. She’d pictured them together every step of the way, happily anticipating their baby’s arrival. She’d imagined falling asleep safe in his embrace each night, his arm curled protectively around her middle, over where their child rested.

 

Instead, she has this . . . awkwardness.

 

“We need to make this work again, Kenna.”

 

“This?”

 

“Us. We need to be married in more than name only. While it might feel easiest to brush everything aside, I’ve realized that that will only hurt us in the long run. If we want to have a real marriage – a good marriage – again, we have to try. Please.”

 

“I did try, Bash. I tried and I tried and –”

 

“I know. And I know I have to own my part of what happened to us, of how we fell apart. Really own it and really try to make it right, not just try and make it up to you with a dance or a trip to Paris,” he says self-deprecatingly.

 

He sounds sincere enough and as though he’s actually thought this through, and really, what better option do they have?

 

She still wants to know about his _friend_ and what she will be to Bash now that they are attempting a true marriage again, but she will not mar this agreement with recriminations. She will save her questions for another day. “All right then.”

 

\---

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, their conversations become longer and less strained and more honest, more like the earlier days of their marriage, after they’d committed to really trying, but before they’d fallen in love, when they were still trying to learn each other’s true selves.

 

Eventually she dredges up the nerve to bring up the question that has been plaguing her.

 

“I don’t want to fight, but I do need to know what Delphine is to you now.”

 

He looks very solemn, but after a long while, he nods. “Do you remember how I investigated supernatural occurrences after the plague?”

 

“Vaguely.”

 

“I told you of a woman in the village inspiring fear because people said she could raise the dead. She could not, but she could heal people and see their present and future pain when she laid hands on them. The Woman in White. That was Delphine. When I spoke with her and she touched me, she could see my past hurts – battle wounds, easy enough, but also that I’d bled for a brother and a woman – Francis and Mary – and that I’d had my heart broken –”

 

“By Mary,” Kenna interjects.

 

“And healed,” Bash finishes.

 

_By me?_

 

“She also told me my heart would shatter because I would lose someone close to me soon. That night, I returned to find you gone, with no message, and Antoine all over you at the party you helped him organize,” he continues dryly.

 

Now his embarrassing jealous scene makes more sense. She might have – probably would have – dismissed it as superstitious silliness, but at least she would have understood that he’d come to the party upset because the thought of losing her actually did upset him – something she’d begun to doubt quite seriously even then. It might have helped.

 

“She healed me twice – the two most recent times I was gravely injured.”

 

When he spent _weeks_ away convalescing. She should perhaps be grateful that the woman has saved his life twice now. No, she is grateful, even if she wishes it had been someone else (anyone else) who saved him because the woman gave her the _queerest_ feeling when they met – and even if she’s so _jealous_ she can’t bear it.

 

She didn’t think she was capable of being this jealous anymore. 

 

“I know this will all sound superstitious madness to you, but I’ll tell you what I know and what I think. The thing is . . . Delphine’s healing carried a price. I believe Francis’s illness was the price for the first time. But I saved Clarissa from being stoned to death and later killed her myself when I learned of his illness and he was saved. The second time, I am not sure what the price would have been –”

 

“Would have been?”

 

“I killed her.”

 

“Delphine?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She shivers, suddenly afraid. Bash had _loved_ this woman and he _killed_ her . . . Why? To save his own skin?

It seems he really is Henry’s son after all.

 

“Despite her protestations to the contrary, Delphine practiced dark magic. Blood magic. She made . . . sacrifices. And she used my blood for some sort of . . . love magic. To bind me to her. It shocked me, but it made sense . . . My attachment to her came on so suddenly. I heard her one night, when I was recovering and she thought I was still sleeping. Perhaps she’d dared not continue those rites while I was on death’s door and risk interfering with my recovery, so their power over me waned.”

 

“My God.”

 

“I don’t know, truthfully. But what I do know is that I’d hidden Claude’s letter and she must have found it or perhaps when you met . . . She touched you, do you remember? You seemed so uncomfortable.”

 

She had been. The woman’s touch had made her feel . . . violated, somehow.

 

“That is to say, she knew that you were pregnant, but I hadn’t told her, and with what I heard . . . I became afraid of her. Of what it seemed she’d already done to me, of what else she might do to me, and, more importantly, to the people I cared about. I know you are a skeptic, Kenna, but she was clearly very powerful . . . I should have died of my injuries the first time and perhaps the second as well. Her powers may have rivaled those of Nostradamus, but while she might have used them for good in the past, she was using them for ill by the time I took action.”

_A lofty cause which has nothing to do with them or the people they care about. No. I understand the need for protection. More so than most._

 

Killing Delphine might not have been noble or lofty, it might not have been the action of a _true and gentle knight_ , but it had everything to do with her and their child. Bash acted _their_ knight in this.

 

She thinks, for the first time, that her frozen, broken heart might be thawing, that the love she once felt for Bash might be rising through the cracks.

 

\---

 

“Are you afraid?” she asks quietly another night, months later.

 

They sit in the same place they sat together for the first time, what feels like a lifetime ago, when she sought advice on the father from the son. And now the son is the father of her unborn child, who gives her no peace, kicking relentlessly as if to ensure she doesn’t forget his now-imminent arrival.

 

As though she _could_. Or perhaps her son means to protest how little room he has now. She is huge and constantly uncomfortable and can’t wait to finally hold this baby in her arms.

 

But she’s also terrified – and not of childbirth. She once told her husband that she was too high-spirited to be a widow. She also believes she’s too high-spirited to die in the birthing bed. What scares her is what comes after. As much as she aches to be a mother, she worries she’ll be no good at it.

 

Bash’s gaze is far-off. He doesn’t answer the question directly, but his words still do. “I’ve always thought Henry saw himself more as my friend than my father. Saw me as someone to spar and hunt and ride with. Maybe it was different when I was younger – before the boys, when Francis was sickly – but then it seemed one son was for pleasure and the other for acting a father, insofar as Henry acted a father at all.”

 

He’s lost in his reverie until she speaks, offering her own worries over not having a proper example. “My mother was lovely, but I lost her young – she died in childbirth – and it broke my father’s heart. He was . . . distant after her death. Everyone always told me how much I resemble her, but I’m afraid I didn’t know her long enough to know how to _be_ like her. I – I’m afraid –” She starts to weep. She can’t help herself. The midwife says it happens to every woman, but she hates it. And she hates that it’s happening _now_.

 

“You’re afraid?” Bash prompts gently.

 

“She would be ashamed –” She tries to stifle a sob. “To know the kind of woman I grew up to be.”

 

“No, Kenna, no.” He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “You’re beautiful –”

 

She scoffs through her tears.

 

“Yes, even now,” he insists, as if reading her mind. “But you’re so much more than your beauty. You’re loving and caring, clever and strong, open-hearted and open-minded. You have so much to offer our child.”

 

She cries in earnest then, but not from sorrow.

 

Maybe she will be a good mother. Maybe she’ll be a good wife again.

 

And maybe _they_ will be all right someday.

 

\---

 

Once she’s calmed down and Bash has handed her something to wipe her eyes with, she mentions her other lingering fear, hoping he will put this one to rest, too. “Losing my mother was hard. But it was harder still to have a father who didn’t show me love.”

 

“Nothing will happen to you. But if it should –”

 

“I’m not afraid of that. Really. I just – My mother couldn’t help dying. But my father didn’t have to be so distant. And you don’t _have_ to travel so far and so often or endanger yourself as much as you do. You’ve proven your willingness to fight for our son –”

 

“We could have a daughter. A girl as beautiful and kind as her mother.”

 

“Bash, please, let me finish. You have proven your willingness to fight for our child’s safety while he – _or she_ ,” she interjects before Bash can interrupt her, “is still in the womb.” She rubs her belly where the baby kicks again. “But are you willing to lay down your sword for him or her? At least some of the time? To be his or her hero first?”

 

“I am,” he promises, perhaps more seriously than he’s ever spoken.

 

She smiles, just a bit.

 

At last, she thinks she may be finding something resembling peace. She never dreamed how precious it would be to her.


End file.
